


you're the same kind of bad as me

by defcontwo



Category: Kings, Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-13
Updated: 2012-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-29 11:26:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defcontwo/pseuds/defcontwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winter Soldier and his ilk were a myth, a ghost belonging to a distant past, or so the wise King Silas says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're the same kind of bad as me

**Author's Note:**

> this is a short fill for a prompt given to me by my dear friend moony. if I owned either of these fandoms, Kings would have gotten a second season.

They'd heard rumors about this, of course. Rumors that quickly got swept under the rug by the ever capable Thomasina, tamped down before word could get out to the general populace because there are some things that the people just shouldn't have to know.

The field report stated there were soldiers of Carmel and Selah, from the days before unification, who had fallen in with Gath militia. Brainwashing to create the perfect assassin didn't exactly sound like it was up Gath's alley, the Gath generals being infamous for preferring a straightforward battle, but it's been a long time since Jack has taken anyone at face value. There was more to the report than that, Jack was sure, but whatever evidence there was had long since been burnt to a crisp. There were enough people left alive from the old wars who remembered the soldiers who had been lost, who might worry and wonder about their loved ones, who might ask too many questions. The Winter Soldier and his ilk were a myth, a ghost belonging to a distant past, or so the wise King Silas says.

The man standing in Jack's bedroom (prison) says otherwise.

"Ease up there, kid. I'm not here for you," the man says, and he would be handsome, Jack thinks, if it weren't for the cold look on his face.

Then again, who is he to talk?

The man stands at seemingly at ease, but a soldier's eye picks up the weapon at the ready, the man as mindful of his weaknesses as he is of his strengths, like any good assassin should be. Something tells Jack that that metal arm isn't one of them, though.

Jack leans back against the bed post and crosses his arm, thanking a god he's not sure that he even believes in anymore that his beloved fiancee isn't here right now. She would probably shriek from terror and alert the guards, and Jack just couldn't have that.

Not when someone this interesting just happened to drop through his window.

"So who are you here for, then?" Jack asks, crossing his arms, a low smirk stealing across his face.

"That doesn't concern you," the man says impatiently, glancing down for no more than thirty seconds to check on his sniper rifle, before snapping attentive eyes back to Jack.

"Not my concern? You're the one in my bedroom," Jack says, letting his voice linger around the word bedroom, because he's decided this man is handsome after all, cold look and metal arm be damned.

"I have orders to assassinate King Silas," the man says blankly, meeting Jack's gaze head on. "My intel revealed that this room would be the best point of entry, as Jack Benjamin has a vested interest in seeing his father dead. If this is incorrect, I have no problems with putting you down as well."

It's not the sort of thing an operative would share quite so easily if they weren't one-hundred percent assured of their own abilities and Jack shivers, wondering just how dangerous this man really is.

Jack uncrosses his arms and pushes away from the bedpost, invading the other man's personal space just enough that it makes the other man pause, and take a step backward. It's a victory, in its own way, and Jack's first in months.

Jack smiles, thinly. "No problems here."

The man nods sharply and swings his rifle around his shoulder, before making for the door, but Jack grabs him by his regular arm and pulls him close. "For luck," Jack says, before kissing the other man firmly.

The other man chuckles, low and filthy, like he has half a mind to take more than just a kiss for the road. "Kid, I don't need luck."

"What's your name?" Jack asks, as the other man makes his way across the room, opening the main door carefully. The other man looks back and raises an eyebrow. "So I know who to thank later."

"Name's Bucky."

And with that, he's gone, the door slipping shut with a quiet snick.


End file.
